


The Twenty-First One is Free

by youwilllovemylaugh



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Comfort Eating, Eating, Eating Kink, F/M, Feedism, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Overeating, Stuffing, Weight Gain, chubby jake peralta, kind of, meet the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwilllovemylaugh/pseuds/youwilllovemylaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>special shoutout to ao3 user sublime_jumbles for her help with this one!</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Twenty-First One is Free

**Author's Note:**

> special shoutout to ao3 user sublime_jumbles for her help with this one!

The night before Jake was supposed to meet Amy’s parents, he absolutely, totally freaked out in a definitely not-cool way.

“I mean, what am I supposed to do if they don’t like me?” Jake asked Boyle on their way out of the precinct for the day. Amy had taken the day off to prepare for the visit.

“Relax, Jake, you’ll be fine,” Boyle said. “How could anyone not like you?”

Jake nodded, rolled his eyes, because it was Boyle, after all. _His_ comments and encouragements were essentially worthless, he tossed them out so much.

They said goodbye at the subway station, and Jake continued walking in the direction of Amy’s place.

It wasn’t a long walk, but the closer he got, the more he felt his chest tightening. Amy hadn’t necessarily warned him about her parents, but Jake _knew_ that if she had _taken the whole day off_ to prepare for tomorrow, and if she’d spent literal _hours_ talking in that nasal, everything-is-definitely-okay-why-do-you-ask voice that she always does when she’s nervous, then he totally had something to worry about.

He made it exactly one block away from Amy’s apartment, where he was supposed to be staying the night, and then he stopped. Inside the dollar-pizza joint on the corner, where he took a twenty out of the sketchy ATM in the corner, and promptly dropped it on the counter.

“Hit me,” he said, shaking his head a little, doing his best to make it look less like a twitch and more like he was clearing his mind. “Give me as many slices as you can and then just keep them coming until the twenty runs out.”

The man behind the counter looked a little concerned, but Jake didn’t take time to assuage his fears. Instead, Jake waited until the man slid the five pre-warmed slices from the glass case onto individual paper plates, and then the counter. He took all of them, and the glass shaker of parmesan cheese, balancing some plates on his arms, sat at one of the two, infrequently used tables in the corner – because, let’s face it, you’re not eating dollar-pizza _in_ the dollar-pizza joint unless you’ve completely lost control of your life – and dug straight in.

True to form, the pizza was greasy and the perfect lukewarm temperature for eating at a ridiculously fast pace. When he’d finished the first slice, with an almost brainless speed, he took the next two and sandwiched them, cheese to cheese, and folded the aligned corners into his mouth.

The thing was, Jake had never met anyone’s parents before. Seeing another person’s place had been a big step for Jake before he met Amy – every other time, he’d brought girls over to his place, and then they’d be gone by morning, afraid of the mouse traps in the corners, or the state of his bathroom. Which he, of course, couldn’t really blame them for.

He shook parmesan over the fourth slice, tried to bury his shame under it.

The reason Boyle’s words hadn’t had the slightest effect on him was because before Amy, there had never been anyone who had seen the state of his apartment – the state of his _life_ – and chosen to stay. She’d taken him to the cleaning products aisle in Target and showed him all the ones that only took seconds to work, so his bathroom would be clean, and he could mop his floor in the kitchen, where he’d spilled chocolate sauce weeks ago and had done nothing about. She’d made him change his mattress, buy a _real_ one. She’d taught him about Tide pods and Rubbermaid and the little things of baking soda you stick on the inside walls of refrigerators to get rid of the lingering smell of spoiled curry.

And she’d still stayed, after all that, to reap the benefits of her Real Adult boyfriend.

He slid the fifth and final slice on the table into his mouth, as he thought about how lucky he’d been, and how he could never expect to be so lucky again.

If this meeting didn’t go well, he knew what would happen. Amy valued her parents’ opinion nearly as much as she valued Holt’s – and that was intimidating, both to Jake and to her. If he didn’t wow them, she’d dump him. She’d move him and his drawer full of clothes out onto the curb, and maybe she’d call up that precinct in New Jersey and she if she could still take that position they’d offered her a year ago, and then he’d never see her again.

The man from behind the counter arrived with two freshly made pies just as Jake was sucking the grease from the fifth slice off of his fingers. He leaned back in his chair as the man took the rolling cutter from his white apron and cut each pizza into eight slices.

“Listen, man,” he said, as he cut up the second pie. “You eat all of this, and I’ll give you the twenty-first slice free.”

Jake looked at the man and grinned. “Well, I can’t turn down a challenge,” he said. By all accounts, he could barely feel the weight of the five slices already in his belly, and after the man left, he counted – five slices, plus two full pies – it would go down all right.

He ate, slices six through ten went down with trademark Jake Peralta ease. It was as if the man’s challenge had shook him out of his funk a little bit; he wasn’t eating out of self-pity anymore. Now he was eating for a reason.

Or, so he thought. Slice twelve brought back the self-doubt. He felt like he’d been dating Amy forever, and perhaps it only felt that way because he’d thought about it for so long, had dreamt of her with such fervor and longing for years before they’d ever started dating. But in real-people terms, it had only been a short time. He might love her, yeah, and she might love him, yeah, but weren’t there also teenagers who claimed they loved each other, and didn’t? Couldn’t he wake up next week and see Amy, and not realize she was getting out of his bed for the last time?

Jake practically shoved the thirteenth and fourteenth slices, the first from the new pie, down his throat. The pizza was getting cold now, and Jake marveled a bit at how it seemed to come lukewarm even out of the oven.

He slowed down at fifteen. His eyelids felt heavy, but not as heavy as his belly did. When he looked down, his breath caught in his lungs. His belly jumped with the catch; it was sticking out several inches into his lap. He could feel his belt cutting into him. He put a hand on it, leaned back in the chair for a minute. But he still didn’t feel any better, still wasn’t full enough to fill that hole that been inside him since his father left.

He still felt inadequate.

So, he ate. And he ate. His belly gurgled, and as his breathing changed to accommodate his protruding, distended stomach, he felt sleep coming on quickly. Amy’s place was only a block away, but by the time he got to the twenty-first slice, he felt properly tired, and ridiculously, achingly full.

He ate the slice slowly, stared out the glass storefront as dozens of people walked past. He realized, then, that it had gotten dark outside. Amy was probably wondering where he was.

He shoved the crust into his mouth, slapped the tabletop, and shouted, “Twenty-first was free!” to the man, who had disappeared somewhere behind the counter.

Then he left. He was embarrassingly aware of how huge and round his belly was as he walked to the corner to cross. He unzipped his hoodie, felt instant relief as it fell to either side of his belly. He noticed, beneath it, that the buttons on his shirt were straining, and he bit the inside of his lip. There were a few seconds left on the walk signal, but he was in no position to rush – even walking the hundred or so feet from the front door of the pizza joint had left him breathless, smothering belches in his fist.

He crossed the street with the next light, hands in his pockets trying to cover his middle, and thanked God that Amy’s building had an elevator.

He took it to the third floor, and as he knocked on her door, he noticed that the hallway smelled of various burnt and overcooked foods.

Amy had been cooking. There was no question about it.

“Hey,” Amy said when she opened the door. She rolled up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he was relieved that she hadn’t gone into hug him.

“Hey,” he said, funneling fake cheer into his voice. He had realized, somewhat desperately, in the elevator, that even after all that pizza, he felt no better than he had before he’d entered the joint. “Have you been cooking?”

“Yeah, and I hope you’re hungry, because you’re not gonna believe what I just made,” she said, as she entered her kitchen.

Jake felt his eyes widen in horror as he followed her into the kitchen. _More food?_ At the very least, he thought with only an ounce of regret, it probably wouldn’t be very good, and that meant he didn’t have to have too much of it.

He could probably fit a little bit more, he thought. And then he’d tell Amy what he’d done. No reason to insult her any further than he likely would by only eating a little of her terrible cooking.

But when he entered the kitchen, leaning against the entranceway and trying not to draw too much attention to himself as he exhaled, slowly, pressed a hand to the side of his belly, Amy presented him with what was possibly the best-looking tray of mac and cheese he had ever seen.

Or, at least the best-looking tray of mac and cheese he’d ever seen inside Amy’s apartment.

“I made your favorite,” she said. “I thought you might want to eat something comforting tomorrow, since it’s gonna be stressful and everything. So I practiced making it all day.”

Jake looked from the tray – bubbling cheese, toasty breadcrumbs – to her, eyes twinkling, smile widening. She knew she had done good, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it.

She would be damned if he left the table without at least two helpings under his belt.

“It … looks good, Ames,” he said, sliding his hand from his belly to his hip, trying to look cool. “I can’t wait to eat some of it.”

She turned and set the tray on the counter, but looked at him over her shoulder. “Some? Just some?”

He felt himself blush. “What did you have in mind?”

Amy turned and leaned up against the counter. “Well, I was hoping you’d at _least_ try for half.” She looked him up and down, and Jake felt a tiny, frozen string pull through his organs. In this state, he couldn’t help but feel totally aroused by her gaze, her eyes on him. He took a shaky breath in. “But who knows,” Amy continued, turning to open the cabinet to take down bowls. Jake saw something wicked streak through her eyes, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Maybe you can eat more than that.”

He was helpless to Amy when she teased him so. She _knew_ this. And she was _still_ doing it.

He was fucking screwed.

“W-who knows,” he said, kicking himself as he stuttered.

Amy turned around, and presented his bowl to him. It boasted a heaping portion, maybe a quarter of the tray, if Jake’s eyes were measuring right. “We’re gonna find out.”

She backed him into a chair at her kitchen table, and then set the bowl in front of him. “Dig in,” she said, and sat across from him to watch.

He looked from her to the bowl and back. He gulped – sitting made his belly ache, and he was already sitting with his legs so far apart. He wished he’d thought to undo his belt before he left the pizza joint, or at least loosen it. “Aren’t you gonna have some?”

Amy shrugged. “I ate a bunch of it to taste test, so I’m good. But I’m also sure this is gonna be really good, Jakey,” she said, pushing the bowl toward him again. “So eat up.”

Jake licked his lips, took the fork she gave him. And as if the fork had imbued him with superpowers, Jake started in with renewed fortification. This was a challenge, and he _would_ be damned if he didn’t leave this table without at least two helpings under his belt.

The mac and cheese was good. Maybe not as good as the mac and cheese from Faneuil Hall he’d had way too much of, that one time he and Amy day-tripped it up to Boston, but it was damned good. And warm. Amy had outdone herself.

“How many different cheeses did you use?” he asked.

“Three.” She looked proud of herself. “I made the sauce myself, too.”

Jake felt his eyes bug out a little bit. “Noice.”

Amy giggled. “Do you like it?”

Jake ate another bite. It was like he hadn’t eaten all that pizza, or maybe had only eaten _some_ of that pizza. “I do.”

“Do you want some more? I’m not sure you can handle much more.”

Jake looked at her. Another challenge. He shoveled the last few bites into his mouth and clunked the bowl down on the table. “Hit me,” he said.

She got up to serve him, and while her back was turned, he leaned back – farther than he could ever remember doing in recent months – and unbuckled his belt. He tried to let it fall quietly, but the belt buckle hit the metal leg of Amy’s table.

_Curse Amy and her fashionably mod taste in décor._

Amy whipped around. “You’re unbuckling your belt _already_ , babe?” She came back with a bowl as full as the last one had been. “You definitely can’t handle all this, then.”

Jake grit his teeth. “Who do you think I am? Two bowls of mac and cheese can’t defeat me.”

“That’s right,” she said. “You can do three bowls, if you really set your mind to it.”

He would have groaned if she hadn’t been right there.

He ate three bites of this bowl, Amy watching, and then he stopped.

“Okay, I gotta confess,” he said.

Amy leaned forward. “What? Is this helping not good? Was the cheese not evenly distributed? Or the breadcrumbs? Is it burned on the –”

“No, no,” he said, putting a hand over hers on the table. “It’s delicious, actually.”

“Oh. So what’s the problem?”

He took a short breath in – it was really all he could fit inside him – and said, “Maybe I freaked out about meeting your parents tomorrow and broke down over it over some dollar-pizza?”

Amy’s eyes flashed, but he couldn’t read them. They were so bad at this feelings thing – he was so bad at it, really – and he felt weird about not being able to read her.

“How much dollar-pizza, exactly?” she asked, blinking.

“Twenty-one slices,” Jake murmured.

“What?”

“Twenty-one slices?” Jake repeated, louder, smiling in the hope of at least charming her.

Instead, it looked like her brain had short-circuited. “You ate _twenty-one_ slices of pizza?”

Jake looked from her to the bowl and back, then nodded. “Hey, I mean, the twenty-first was free.”

“Holy shit, Jake.”

“I know.”

She looked him up and down, and then she launched forward, fit easily between his legs. Her hands went to his belly, then slid up to his collar. “Twenty-one slices of pizza isn’t going to disappear, not even inside someone like you,” she said, and she began unbuttoning his shirt, slowly.

“Nope,” he said. “No, it is definitely not.”

“I was wondering why your shirt wasn’t fitting you right. We just got you these last month.”

Jake blushed. “It’s really tight, isn’t it?”

Amy nodded. “It’s really tight.” She got to the button just above his belly, and stopped. “I bet it would feel better if you took it off.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

She smiled coyly, just the corners of her mouth going up, and then she turned and picked up the bowl. “Let’s make it really worth your while.”

Jake leaned back even farther in the chair, so he could feel Amy’s legs between his. “I don’t know, Ames.”

“Oh, Jakey, you can do it,” she said. “I’m sure you can.” She carefully moved to sit on his lap, straddle his protruding belly. “Maybe you can do it if I feed you from here.”

Jake groaned. “Ames.”

“Shh,” she said, and forked some mac and cheese into his mouth. “Chew.”

He did as he was told. And he felt his belly complain, but his mind kept repeating, _do it, do it, meet her expectations._

So he did.

With some carefully placed kisses and a little patience, Jake ate the rest of the bowl of mac and cheese.

“I don’t have to eat any more, do I?” Jake said.

Amy looked from him to the tray. “Honestly, babe, I’m surprised you made it through this much after all that pizza.”

This time, he didn’t rally himself to meet her challenge. Instead, he let out a long, low belch before he said, “I’m gonna need help to get to the couch.”

Amy giggled. “Fine.”

He pretended, when she leaned over to help him, to collapse on her the second he stood up.

“Jake,” she giggled.

“Help me,” he groaned, extending the syllables. “Help me,” he repeated, this time through a belch that caught him by surprise.

Amy laughed, but she placed a hand on his belly, inside his half-buttoned shirt, and rubbed. “Will this help you?”

“Much better, oh,” Jake said, feeling something inside him click, “so much better.”

They made it to the couch, and when Jake collapsed there, flat on his back, Amy got on top of him. She started unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

“How does this feel?” she asked.

Jake sighed. His belly felt much less constricted, but it was his pants that were digging into him now. “Go south.” He started rubbing his own belly, up and down, slowly.

“South?” Amy said. She looked mesmerized by the movement of his hand, but she untucked his shirt, and when he shook his head, she went for his pants.

“Better,” Jake said, when she undid the button, and the zipper went down of its own accord. He closed his eyes. “So good.”

Amy grinned, and then suddenly, Jake felt her weight on his belly, the familiar tickle of her hair on his face. He opened his eyes as she kissed him.

“You know,” she said, after a few long kisses, “you make me so happy.”

Jake tried not to freeze. “Oh.”

“And you don’t have to worry about my parents,” she said, stroking his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Jake said, disbelieving.

“No, really,” Amy said. “I know I might have made them seem kind of … intimidating, but they’re really okay.”

“You took the whole day off to prepare for their visit,” Jake said.

“So?”

“So, you never take a day off!”

“Well,” Amy said. “That’s got nothing to do with you.”

Jake was silent. He waited, listened for her to continue.

“My mom has always wanted me to be a good cook,” Amy said. “I’m her only daughter, and when you come from a family like mine, someone has to be responsible for taking on all the holiday cooking when she dies.”

Jake tried not to laugh out loud about the idea of Amy cooking Christmas dinner for her brothers and their spouses.

“So, I took the day off to whip something up, that’s all.” Amy ran her hand through his hair, and then pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “If anything, you’re the last thing I’m worried about for tomorrow.”

Jake snorted. “Good joke.”

“No,” Amy said. “Really. Once they see how happy you make me, they won’t care about anything else.”

“Awww.” Jake smiled. He leaned as far up as he could and kissed her. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Psh, shut up,” Amy said. But she smiled too, and they kissed for a while longer, Amy gently rocking her hips against him and leaning down to rub his belly, until she got up to clean the kitchen, and Jake let her go, half-fallen into a stupor, feeling more content and satisfied than he had all week.


End file.
